


and now i let myself love, and i'm not scared of the end

by magnetichearts



Series: do you ever really crash or even make a sound? [a-z prompts for jon/sansa] [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Romeo and Juliet Fusion, Angst, Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Minor Violence, also i just liked the idea of sansa as a mermaid ofc, gotta use my patented tag rn, i gotta stop expecting my fics to be short, i rlly was the idiot who thought this was gonna be less than 10k huh, it has a, jon and sansa are gone for each other in all the universes, mermaid!sansa, my first submission for this project i somehow tricked myself into doing, oh and dw, shifter!Jon, zero word count control™️
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: “Whenever you see this, think of me. Remember that we were here. Remember we were us.”He curled his fingers around the clip but didn’t take his eyes off of her face, and reached up, gently brushing back a strand of her hair. “I always think of you.”or; sansa's a mermaid, and jon's a shifter, and they can't be together. it's too bad neither of them decided to listen before falling in love.prompt: a - almost kiss(title from “take this lonely heart” by nothing but thieves)
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Davos Seaworth & Jon Snow, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Ned Stark & Sansa Stark
Series: do you ever really crash or even make a sound? [a-z prompts for jon/sansa] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732159
Comments: 12
Kudos: 76





	and now i let myself love, and i'm not scared of the end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyAlice101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAlice101/gifts).



> hey guys! this is my first fic for a prompt series i decided to do! a-z prompts for the ship of my choosing, so of _course_ i chose jon and sansa. you don't have to worry about me finishing because not only will i finish if it **kills** me, but i also have a host of friends behind the scenes holding me accountable. 
> 
> i'm really excited to have you guys read this! it's a verry loose interpretation of romeo and juliet, in that it has a happy ending, because they have to. jon is a shapeshifter, and sansa is a mermaid, they're ages are about comparable with canon, and i made ned and davos have a backstory cause i can
> 
> so, since winterfell is underwater in this fic, i made ned lord of the north sea, and with a castle underwater named winterfell? why is it named winterfell if it's underwater, you ask?? who the FUCK cares. anyways, winterfell is a castle under the sea, but there is a stretch of land exactly north from it, which is what they call "the shores of winterfell." you don't really need to know this and can ignore it, but i thought i'd explain it just for sure
> 
> **also, this fic is a present to my friend maddie!!** hi maddie! i hope you like it, you're such a good writer and you deserve all the gift fics in the world. i hope this brought you a little joy! everyone, please go check out her jonsa fics, they're literally the best thing i've ever read. she's **@ladyalice101** on both tumblr and ao3!
> 
> coming up next: bed sharing
> 
> please enjoy!!

The first time Sansa noticed the shifter, he had come in the form of a white wolf. 

To be honest, she was a little put off by it. After all, this was her favorite lagoon for a reason. Quiet, far enough from the sea so that other mermaids weren’t likely to find it, but full of light and plenty of rocks for her to drag herself up onto when she wanted her hair to dry out and to feel the sun on her skin. 

Sansa could tell he was a shifter by his eyes, red, red eyes that stared at her just a beat too long before they looked at the ground. She tried not to recoil, to not duck underneath the surface and swim back home, back to the sea, back to Winterfell, but she couldn’t help jerking back just a little. 

She didn’t know much about shifters, but she remembered what her mother had told her. About how dangerous they were, how they were never to be trusted. After all, how could she ever trust a being when she didn’t know what it looked like? 

If Arya was here, she would have laughed at Sansa for being so wary, so fearful, and swum up to the shifter, held out a hand and petted that soft, white fur. Instead, Sansa flicked her tail and pushed herself back, hoping that she didn’t look half as scared as she truly was. 

The wolf’s head raised again, and Sansa found those red eyes locked in on her own once more, eyes that were far too intelligent and knowing to belong to an animal. Sansa swallowed roughly, keeping her eyes locked with the shifter. 

The wolf cocked its head to the side, and Sansa bit back a smile at how much like a dog he suddenly looked like. Instead of a fearsome monster, she was reminded of the little puppies she sometimes saw yapping on the beach, playing with their human owners. She rather liked it, actually. 

Sansa took a deep breath and moved a little closer, but the second she did so, the wolf took off, running back into the woods. 

Sansa’s hand, which had been hovering in the air expectedly, splashed back into the water, and she tried to hide her disappointment. Whatever. It wasn’t like she was ever going to see the shifter again. 

* * *

For three days, Jon tried to convince himself that going back to the lagoon was a bad idea. 

He failed. 

In his defense, how was he supposed to resist the beautiful redheaded mermaid he had seen in the lagoon? He had never seen a mermaid before, but he still found himself blown away by how beautiful she was. 

He hadn’t been looking for the lagoon, simply had been out for a walk in his favorite form, when he had stumbled upon her. She hadn’t noticed him immediately, and he had found himself instantly captivated with the ease by which she swam. He wondered what her tail looked like, only able to see a faint shimmering image underneath the water of the lagoon. 

And the blue of the water, he had thought that beautiful, but when she looked at him, the water paled in comparison to the blue in her eyes. Jon had never seen eyes quite like hers, clear and sharp. 

She had been afraid of him, though, if the way she moved back was any indication, and he hadn’t been able to stop his heart from sinking. It wasn’t surprising, though. Jon knew that merfolk and shifters didn’t get along, hadn’t for centuries. He could only imagine the stories she had heard about him. 

He had heard his fair share too, stories of mermaids and sirens dragging sailors down to the depths of the sea, of their voices singing songs that led men to their own demise. 

But looking at her, pink cheeked and red hair plastered to her back, Jon hadn’t been able to fathom how she could be capable of ever hurting anyone. 

He had held back from visiting the lagoon again, for three days, trying to convince himself that the mermaid _wasn’t_ that beautiful, that he had simply thought it all up in his mind, but he failed. 

Fine. If he was going back, he certainly wasn’t going to go back as a wolf. That way, she wouldn’t know it was him. 

* * *

The shifter was back again, for the fourth time in as many days after the first three day break. 

He honestly thought she didn’t know it was him, which, frankly, was a little adorable. 

Sansa spared a glance out of the corner of her eye at the owl up in the tree, which was still looking at her. He had shown up as a squirrel, a fox, a hummingbird, and finally, as an owl, and every time, she had known it was him. 

She knew she should have been scared, should have never come back to the lagoon after the first time she spotted the shifter, but she couldn’t help it. There was something so interesting about him, something about him that was almost magnetic, pulling her to him, and she wanted to know what it was. 

Plus, Sansa had never met another shifter, had never met another magical being besides a mermaid, and she couldn’t deny that she was a little curious. 

She smirked and ducked underneath the water, making sure that when she came up, she was looking directly at the owl. 

“Hello,” she said. “Are you going to keep staring at me, or eventually introduce yourself?” 

The owl let out a hoot and nearly fell off the branch, and Sansa couldn’t stifle a giggle at how shocked the poor animal looked. “I promise I don’t bite,” she said. “And I’ll even go first. My name is Sansa.” 

Instead of answering like she expected, the owl took off, shooting off from the branch and into the blue sky. 

Her heart sank. It looked like the shifter didn’t like her as much as she liked him. She tried to ignore the feeling that was like a knife twisting in her gut. After all, she barely knew him. There was no reason for her to care so much. 

Just then, she heard some rustling in the bushes behind her, and she instantly ducked out of view, slipping beneath the surface of the water to swim over to a large rock. She surfaced and peeked behind it, watching a man come into the clearing. 

Oh. Oh _my._ Sansa had seen handsome men before, plenty of human men and mermen alike, but this man was handsome in another sort of way, the kind of handsome that only grew the longer she looked at him. She was struck with a sudden, almost primal desire to drag her hands through those black curls, to trace that face with her hands, to map him out and commit him to memory. 

“Um,” he said, stepping further into the clearing. “I’m sorry I left like that. Had to get my clothes.” He scratched the back of his neck. “They don’t—they don’t shift along with me.” 

Sansa’s heart stopped in her chest. This was her shifter? But he was _beautiful,_ far more beautiful than she had been expecting. She wanted to move out from behind her rock, she did, but something in her held her back. She was scared. 

“I hope I didn’t scare you off,” he called out. “My—my name is Jon.” 

_Jon,_ Sansa thought. “Jon,” she whispered. She liked the way the name settled on her tongue, strong and sure. 

“Why am I doing this?” he muttered, low enough that she had to strain to catch it. “She’s already gone.” 

Jon turned to leave, and the action spurred Sansa into motion. 

“Wait,” she called out, flicking her tail to move out from behind her rock. He spun around, and she offered him a small, but genuine smile. “Jon. I’m Sansa.” 

* * *

Bloody hell, Jon knew mermaids were supposed to be perfect in every way, beautiful with voices that made men want to throw themselves overboard to be with them, but this was taking it to a ridiculous level. 

“Sansa,” he said. She smiled, broadly. Fuck, this was bordering on unfair, wasn’t it? She was so beautiful he could hardly stand to look at her. 

“I didn’t realize this lagoon was so interesting,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I love it, but I thought I was the only person who knew about it.” 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” 

Sansa laughed. “You’ve been here the past couple of days, haven’t you?” Jon’s eyes widened. “As the wolf, the first time, and then the squirrel, fox, hummingbird, and finally, the owl,” she counted, ticking each one off on her fingers. “I noticed.” 

“You—you did?” he stammered. Oh _fuck,_ he was so screwed, wasn’t he?

Sansa smiled, eyes flickering down at the lagoon before she glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “You’re hard to miss.” 

She suddenly seemed very interested in the water, dragging her hands through it, refusing to look at him, and Jon felt his heart rising as he realized that his interest hadn’t all been one-sided.

“I’ve never met a mermaid before,” he confessed. “Stayed away from the ocean.” He stepped a little closer to her, inching forward, but she didn’t move an inch. 

“And I’ve never met a shifter. They’re supposed to be very dangerous.” Suddenly, her eyes narrowed. “How am I supposed to know this is your human form? How do I know you’re not just lying to me?” 

Jon held up his hands, suddenly understanding where the myth of dangerous mermaids came from. Her gaze had hardened, cold as ice, and she didn’t smile. And instead of the soft, almost lyrical quality of her voice, it was harder, eerier, like she was speaking through the water. 

“I swear, this is my true form,” he said quietly. “I mean you no harm.” 

Sansa squinted at him once more, but she seemed satisfied with his answer, and the hard edge in her eyes vanished. The smile didn’t reappear, but when she spoke again, her voice was back to normal. “And are you afraid of me?” 

Jon thought about her question. He didn’t want to lie to her, so he couldn’t say no, but he didn’t want her to think that he didn’t understand her power either. “I know how strong you are,” he said instead. “I know that you’d never hurt someone unless they gave you a reason to. So, I don’t think I have to fear you unless I deserve to.” 

She smiled at him unexpectedly, the smile breaking open over her face the same way the sun broke open over the horizon, and Jon felt his heart pick up its pace. God, she was far too beautiful for his own good. “What does your tail look like?” he heard himself blurt out, as if he were watching himself from far away. 

Sansa started laughing, and Jon just barely resisted the urge to run forward and throw himself into the lagoon. “Come here,” she said, beckoning him forward with her hand. Jon stepped forward cautiously, watching as Sansa heaved herself up onto the large rock she had been previously hiding behind. 

When she did so, her upper half was revealed, and Jon tried not to stare at the curve of her collarbone, at the droplets of water falling down her body, and think about licking them off of her. Her breasts were covered with some top thing, a kind of satiny fabric Jon didn’t know the name of, but the skin of her stomach was bare, and he just barely resisted reaching a hand out and brushing it. 

He jerked back, face hot. What was he, some sort of creeper? 

“Jon,” Sansa said, drawing his attention back to her. “Come sit here.” She patted the rock, and Jon swallowed roughly before sitting next to her. 

Sansa’s tail was a beautiful blue, the exact same color of her eyes, Jon noted, at her hip, but moved into a darker, deeper purple at the end of her tail. He reached a hand out, transfixed at how it shimmered, before jerking his hand back. “Sorry,” he apologized. 

She shook her head. “No, please. It’s ok.” 

Jon hesitantly placed his hand on her tail, right where the middle of her thigh would be if she had legs, and ran it down her tail. It wasn’t slimey, like he had thought it would be, but not unlike the scales of a fish, smooth and slick. Her scales were much larger and far more beautiful, shimmering iridescent in the light of the pool, and Jon found himself dragging his hand down her tail again. 

“What’s it like, living under the sea?” 

Sansa smiled. “I love it. I know everyone thinks mermaids want to come up here and see the surface, and that’s true, we all do, but there’s a whole world underneath the sea.” She flicked her tail, sending droplets of water spraying all over the two of them. “It’s beautiful. There’s nothing quite like swimming through a coral forest or running your hand down a dolphin’s back. And sometimes, if you find the perfect spot, like this lagoon, it’s quiet and peaceful and beautiful.” 

Jon couldn’t help but smile. “You had the whole ocean, and you still needed quiet?” 

Sansa shrugged. “I needed to be with myself.” She glanced at him. “What about you? What’s it like, being a shifter?” 

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking about how to best answer her question. “Freeing. To be able to run or fly or swim, it’s unlike anything else in the world. It’s like you’re one with nature.” 

Sansa looked at him. “Would—would you mind shifting back into the wolf?” 

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Why?” 

Sansa flushed, a pretty pink whose path he didn’t let himself follow with his eyes, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Your fur looked soft. And I wanted to touch it.” 

_Dear god._ If Sansa had asked him to strip naked and run through the village, he would have done it, for her. What was this girl doing to him?

Jon nodded silently, and ducked behind the tree. He took a deep breath, and shucked off his clothes. Closing his eyes, Jon pictured the wolf he wanted to become, and when he opened his eyes, he found that he had fallen to the ground, about halfway in height, and when he looked down at himself, he was on four legs, white fur covering his body. 

He trotted out to Sansa, who gasped when she saw him. “Oh,” she breathed. Jon ducked his head as he approached her, suddenly shy. 

A hand ran through his hair, gently smoothing out his fur. “Hi there, Jon.” 

* * *

Sansa knew it was a terrible idea, to continue to talk with Jon, to meet him, to ask him to shift into any animal she could think of, but she couldn’t help it. 

Being around him was addictive, but not in the way she had imagined. It wasn’t like the songs she had heard, nothing like the books she had read, but Jon was new, a breath of fresh air she couldn’t help but inhaling. He didn’t make her feel like she was on fire, but that her soul was a steady stream, ebbing over rocks, content and cool. 

Sansa ran her brush through her hair, perched on her seat, thoughts a million miles away. They always seemed to be on Jon, now. It was like she was struggling with thinking of anything else but him. 

She groaned and tossed her hairbrush onto her vanity, rubbing her hands with her eyes. 

“So,” Arya said, from where she was lounging on her bed, toying with a knife. “What’s got your tail in a twist?” 

Sansa swiveled around and looked at her sister. “What?” she asked. 

“You have your sad face on.” 

“I don’t have a sad face.” 

“Yes, you do,” Arya pointed out. She sat up, swinging her tail so it hung over the side of her bed. “You always brush your hair longer and frown exactly like you’re frowning right now when you have your sad face. So, spill it. What’s on your mind?” 

Sansa bit her lip. She didn’t want to come clean to anyone about her meetings with Jon, but this was _Arya._ She could trust her sister. She knew that, at least. “I met someone,” she admitted. 

Arya’s eyes widened. “Ok, I was definitely not expecting you to say that.” She smirked. “Finally, though. It’s about time. What’s he like?” 

Sansa flushed. “Not in _that_ way, Arya. He’s a friend.” 

Arya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t blush when talking about friends, so forgive me if I think that’s a load of bullshit.” 

“It can never be,” Arya,” Sansa said easily. She ran a hand down her tail, refusing to look her sister in the eyes. “He’s a shifter.” 

Sansa couldn’t see Arya’s face, but she certainly wasn’t imagining the sharp gasp that her sister let out. “A shifter?” 

Sansa nodded. 

Arya started laughing. “Oh my god,” she said, cackling. “That’s got to be the best thing that’s ever happened.” 

Sansa’s head shot up. “Arya!” she said. “This isn’t funny!” 

Arya just laughed a little harder. “Of _course_ it’s funny. I’m not going to lie, I always thought it was going to be Robb or me who fell for someone who Mother and Father didn’t approve of, but instead it’s _you._ You, the perfect daughter, and you fell for the actual enemy. I’m sorry, it’s just a little too rich.” 

Sansa frowned, and swam over to her sister, smacking her on the arm lightly. “Excuse me, once you’ve stopped laughing at my pain, could you maybe listen?” 

Arya sobered up instantly. Sansa may have fought with her sister constantly when they were younger, but time had certainly mellowed the two of them out. “What?” Arya said. 

Sansa paused. “I’m not sure I can stop seeing him. 

Arya gaped at her. “Sansa, I know I said that this was funny, but can you imagine how bad it would be if Mother and Father found out? Then you’d really never see him again. They’d ship you off to live with Aunt Lysa.” Arya shuddered. “Do you really want that?” 

Sansa wrinkled her nose at the thought of her mother’s severe sister, but most importantly, at the thought of her aunt’s husband. She _hated_ him, didn’t want him anywhere near her. “No,” she agreed. “But Arya,” she said. “I need you to cover for me. Please, Mother and Father are already getting suspicious.” 

Arya sighed, rubbing her temples with her hands. “I am _so_ proud of you, but I feel like it’s my obligation as the suddenly responsible sister to tell you that this could end terribly.” 

“I know, Arya. But please. I need you to do this for me,” Sansa pleaded. “Can you?” 

Arya gave her a look. “Of course I can, Sansa. But you have to make me understand. Why?” 

“He feels like home, Arya. I don’t know why. He just does.” Sansa couldn’t explain it any more than she could explain why the sun rose in the east and set in the west, why she only saw some fish during the summer and others in the winter, she could not explain what drew her to Jon like their very souls were tethered together, but she did not need to explain it. It was a simple truth she must live with. 

Arya nodded. “Ok, then. I’ll cover for you.” 

Sansa sighed in relief and pulled her sister in for a hug. “Thank you.” 

“Be careful, Sansa,” Arya said. “You’re playing with something very dangerous here.” 

Sansa drew back from her sister and tucked a strand Arya’s hair behind her ear. “I know.” And god, she hated it. Hated how scared she was. But no matter how much fear she held, she was not going to stop. She was going to keep seeing Jon, if only for him, to see his smile and hear his voice and to be with him. 

And she was selfish, Sansa knew, to keep doing this, but she couldn’t stop. She was drawn to Jon, and even if she tried, she could never be rid of him.

* * *

Jon ran a hand through his hair, scratching at his neck. “What?” he asked quietly. 

Davos just shook his head. “Wondering how you managed to get yourself into such a terrible situation, that’s all. Seriously, boy!” he snapped. “Do you not have any sense? Talking to a mermaid?” 

“I didn’t _mean_ to stumble on the lagoon, Davos!” Jon shot back. “I just did, and we started talking, and we became friends…” he trailed off, unsure how to end the sentence. 

“Bloody hell,” Davos groaned. “And you also had to go and fall in love with her. Just perfect.” 

“I didn’t fall in love with her,” Jon protested. 

“Boy, when a man has that kind of look on his face, it’s because of a girl. There is no way you aren’t in love with this girl.” 

Jon was silent. What could he say? That talking to Sansa felt like coming home? That her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire life, and her laugh was his salvation? That he counted down the minutes until he could see her again? 

“Davos, please, just don’t tell anyone. I’m not ready to stop seeing her,” Jon begged his adoptive father. He was asking a lot of Davos, he knew that, seeing as the man saved him from hunting for his food in the forest as a young boy, but there was no way he could stop seeing Sansa. Not quite. 

Davos looked at him, sadly. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Jon. But you have to know this is only going to end badly. There is no happy ending here. There’s just not.” 

Jon frowned. He still didn’t know _why_ mermaids and shifters hated each other so much. “She’s not dangerous, Davos. She’s the best person I’ve ever met.” 

“I believe you, boy, but do you think anyone else will? You’re fighting against an entire system that hates her kind. There’s nothing else I can do for you. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to learn to say goodbye.” Davos looked pained, and gave him a small, shaky smile. “I just don’t want to be the one to break your heart in two.” 

“Don’t worry, Davos,” Jon said softly, staring into the fire. “You’re not going to be the one to break my heart.” 

* * *

Sansa laid on her back in the lagoon, arms spread out at her sides. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun beat down on her. That was something that could never be replicated in the depths of the ocean, could never be rivaled by anything in the deep sea. The feeling of the sun on her skin was, to this day, one of her favorite things in the world.

Sansa heard rustling in the trees behind her, and she smoothly flipped over and ducked beneath the surface of the water. Chances were it was just Jon, but she didn’t want to take any chances, just in case. 

Jon stepped into the clearing, eyes scanning the lagoon for her. She resurfaced and smiled at him, but her smile faded once she caught the fraught look on his face. She flicked her tail so she could get closer to him. 

“Jon, what’s wrong?” 

He sighed, kicking his shoes off so that he could sit on the edge of a rock and dangle his feet in the water. Sansa moved a little closer, resting her hands gently on his face, pushing it up so he looked at her. “Jon,” she said again. “Come on. You can talk to me.” 

Powerful, visceral guilt flashed across his face, and Sansa felt her heart crack, and pound in her chest at the same time. What was the problem? Had someone found out about them? Was something going on with Jon’s family? She knew that it was just him and his adoptive father, having lost his mother at a young age and never knowing who his father was, but she didn’t recall Jon mentioning anything about his adoptive father, even in passing. She had told him about her family, but god, what if Jon had done something to sell them out? 

Sansa felt guilt pool in her own stomach scarcely before the thought even finished flashing through her mind. Jon wouldn’t have done anything of the sort, but he was worrying her. She pressed her thumbs into his jaw lightly, but hard enough so his eyes locked on hers. “Jon. You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” 

Jon sighed, gaze dropping to the water. “I told Davos about you,” he muttered. 

Sansa blinked in shock. “You mean that we were friends?” 

Jon nodded. “I’m so sorry, Sansa, I just needed someone else to talk to, and Davos was getting suspicious as to where I was disappearing to every night, and I totally understand if you never want to speak to me again—” 

“Jon,” Sansa interrupted. “Breathe. It’s _fine.”_ She couldn’t help but laugh a little at the irony of the situation. “I’m not mad. In fact, I told my sister about you.” She felt herself flush a little at the admission, and pulled away from him, suddenly very aware at how wrapped up in one another they were. Far too intimately for her liking. _Or not intimately enough,_ her mind whispered.

Sansa shook off her stray thoughts and focused her attention back on Jon. His grey eyes were wide with shock. “You—you did?” 

She nodded. “I mean, she was also getting pretty suspicious. I needed someone to get my parents off of my back. They kept wondering where I was.” 

“Do you ever really think we’ll be able to tell them the truth?”

She’d never lie to Jon. Not only did she hate lying to people she trusted, it was unnecessary. But she found herself tempted, if only to ease the troubled look in his eyes just a little bit, to bring him some peace and happiness. But she couldn’t. “I don’t know, Jon,” she said, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “I’d like to think that in a better world, perhaps, we could be friends without any rules.” 

Jon stared down at the lagoon and clenched his jaw. “Why do you think the shifters hate the merfolk so much?” 

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose it must be the same reason the merfolk hate the shifters. But I’ve never actually been _given_ a reason. Just that they hate us and we hate them.” 

“That’s not a solid reason to hate someone, though, is it?” Jon asked. “I mean, you’re a wonderful person, and you’re a mermaid. It’s not like the two are mutually exclusive, are they? Ridiculous for them to write off either group based on nothing but rumors and grudges from centuries ago.” 

Sansa smiled at how passionate he was getting. This was her favorite kind of Jon, the kind that talked to her about what he loved, what he cared about. Sometimes, Jon got so quiet she was scared that he didn’t care for her, that he was bored with her. After all, if he found her interesting, wouldn’t he want to talk to her?

It took her some time to realize that Jon was just a quiet person, not unlike her father, she noted, but that didn’t make her care for him any less. 

“You’re right, Jon,” Sansa said. “There’s no reason for mermaids and shifters to hate one another. None at all, in fact. I’ll ask my father. Perhaps he knows why.” 

Jon nodded. “I’ll ask Davos.” He still looked troubled, though, so Sansa moved closer to him and laid her hand over his. He looked at her, grey eyes that she adored so much fixed on her blue ones. He looked worried, though, and she wanted to reach up and smooth the wrinkles in his forehead out with her thumb. “Davos told me there was no way this could end well. What do you think?”

Sansa sighed. “I’m not foolish enough to think that everything will end up ok, Jon. But I’m not cynical enough to think that it all will end terribly.” She smiled at him. “I think that we have far more power to change this than anyone else realizes.” 

* * *

In the end, he decided that he couldn’t risk asking Davos what the truth was. There was always the risk that Davos would lie to him, that he would keep something hidden from him. Jon trusted Davos, really, he did, but not about this. Not about something so important.

There was only one place for Jon to find the answers he needed. Davos’s things. He never let Jon anywhere near them, never let him touch or even look at the sheets of paper stuffed into his bag, tucked carefully away in his room. There were pictures there, portraits and gemstone studded images that Jon knew had to be priceless, and yet, even when they were starving, Davos had never sold them. Jon had never had any resentment towards Davos for keeping them, but now they were the only way Jon could figure out what was going on. What had happened. 

He opened the door of the cabin quietly, peering in to check if Davos was there. If luck was on Jon’s side, then he would still be at the market, like he always was on Fridays. 

Thankfully, the cabin was empty. Jon closed the door behind him and walked into Davos’s room, crouching behind the bed and feeling around underneath it for the satchel that he had seen Davos stuff under from time to time. 

His hand closed around a leather strap, and Jon yanked the bag out from underneath the bed. 

It was brown, enclosed with a buckle that was engraved with a sigil Jon had never seen before in his life, the snarled fangs of a wolf. Jon tried not to focus on the buckle too much, and simply reached down and flipped the buckle up, opening the bag. 

He pulled out thick stacks of papers, and a few of the smaller portraits that he remembered seeing. Setting them down on the bed, Jon took a look at the portrait on the top and felt his stomach coil. 

There was no way to truly describe what he was looking at, other than the fact that it seemed to be a bloodbath. The portrait depicted bodies, strewn in the sea, on the land, slumped over. Jon recognized the shifters, all who remained in animal form when they were killed, but he caught glimpses of shimmering tails underneath the sea, barely hidden by the surf. 

The main thing he noticed, though, was the blood. There was a lot of it, enough to stain the blue sea red in some places. The artist certainly hadn’t taken any liberties in sugarcoating what had happened, and if they had, well, Jon didn’t ever want to see what the real scene looked like. 

He set down that portrait and picked up another one, this one made of studded stones. Unlike the other portrait, this one was pleasant, showing a coral reef under the sea, and when Jon brushed his fingers over the canvas, he could feel the gems sticking up from the canvas where the coral was, giving the whole painting a three-dimensional feel to it. 

Except—wait, these weren’t gems. Jon held the canvas closer to his eyes, squinted at it. It was coral. What was Davos doing with a portrait of the sea made out of coral? 

He flipped over the back, and in the bottom right corner of the frame, caught a small inscription. 

_To Davos. From, N_

Who was N? Why had he given Davos a portrait of the sea? 

Jon set the painting aside and tried to see if there was any chance he could find some answers in the letters. As he read through them, however, things became clearer. 

The shifters and the merfolk had never trusted each other, held hatred for one another for as long back as anyone could remember. Shifters believed that merfolk were monsters, sirens who sang songs to lure men to their deaths, while merfolk didn’t trust shifters, who could change their appearance at will. The fighting was also exacerbated by the fact that shifters and merfolk were inherently very introverted, tight knit groups of creatures, and didn’t trust any outsiders. 

But that still didn’t seem like enough for the level of venom that Jon had heard some shifters speak about merfolk with. And it still didn’t explain _what_ was that portrait he saw? 

Jon tossed another paper aside and came to an actual letter, a proper letter written to Davos. 

_To Davos,_

_It pains my heart that we are forced to correspond about such horrible circumstances. You were always one of the best men I knew, no matter what type of being you were. I’m afraid the merfolk blame the shifters just as much for what happened at the Trident, Davos. They feel as though the shifters attacked first, transformed into fearsome animals that tore their people to pieces. And, I have to say, it’s difficult for me to see it any other way._

_I know that you’ve never truly agreed with the views of the shifters about the merfolk, Davos, but I can’t help but question why you were there. We both lost friends, people we would have called brothers, once upon a time._

_Is there really so much hatred?_

_It saddens me to think that my children will grow up in a world full of so much hatred and violence, and I wish there was more I could do to change it. You know how difficult this has been, for both of our groups._

_But I don’t know how to forgive what happened at the Trident, even if I know you would have never let something like that happen if you could control it. Maybe someday, there will be newer, younger l, better men and women who can do what we never could._

_I hope you understand, and I hope there is a day when we can meet once more._

_Your friend,_

_Ned Stark, Lord of the North Sea_

Jon nearly dropped the letter in shock, trying not to scramble back from it like a child. What the _fuck?_ Davos, corresponding with a merman? And the Trident? What had happened there? How long ago had that happened? Jon hadn’t heard anything like that happening, hadn’t even heard any other shifters he knew mention it. 

Before Jon could even move, however, the door to Davos’s room opened, and he entered. He froze when he saw Jon sitting on his bed, staring at him like a deer in headlights. He didn’t look angry, however, and instead just unfroze and sighed sadly. 

“I knew you’d come searching for it sooner or later,” he said. He stood at the foot of the bed, leaning against the board. “Too damn curious for your own good, aren’t you?” 

Jon silently held up the letter written from Ned Stark. “Why the hell is a merman calling you his friend?” 

Davos sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Jon—” he began. 

“No,” Jon said. “Don’t lie to me. What happened?” 

Davos was quiet for another thirty seconds, and then his eyes flickered to the first portrait Jon had been looking at, the one with the bloodbath that made his stomach curl. “The Trident happened,” he said softly. 

Jon swallowed roughly. “The Trident?” 

Davos sighed heavily, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “About twenty-five years ago, there was a fight between the shifters and the merfolk. Almost everyone there was slaughtered, save for a few younger boys on each side. It was horrible, Jon. I lost dear friends in that fight, people who I thought would be with me forever. After that, the blood turned even worse between us, but the fighting had died down amongst the mother magical creatures. For the sake of the realm, the merfolk and the shifters decided that it would be better if they simply left the other group alone.” 

“Why is the Lord of the North sea writing letters to you?” 

“Ned and I met by happenstance while traveling, many many years ago. I didn’t know he was a merman—only the most powerful merfolk can turn human on land—and he didn’t know that I was a shifter. We became friends. We even stayed friends after we both discovered who the other was. That’s what happens when you save each other’s lives, I guess. We remained in correspondence, for decades after.” 

Davos was silent then, staring into the fire, and Jon had lived with him long enough to know he was thinking about his friend, who he had lost in another way than the ones who had died. 

“After the Trident, Ned wrote to me that there was too much bad blood between the shifters and the merfolk, and there was always the threat our correspondence would come out. It would destroy his reputation as the Lord of the North Sea. So we stopped. Cut off all communication.” 

“You still haven’t talked? In twenty-five years?” Jon asked. Davos shook his head. “Why can’t you guys learn to see reason? To fix these two groups?” 

“There is no reason in hate, Jon. There is no room for compassion and kindness and love. When you have people who have built their entire identities around hate, and the only thing they care about is keeping other people apart, there is no room for men like you, men who can see the good in people and who can try to hope for a better future. This is a cruel world, and a cruel world takes men like you and spits them out.” 

“No,” he said. “I can’t believe that. Not when I know who Sansa is.” He paused. “Not when I love her like I do. I can’t let her go. I can’t. We’ll find a way to be together.” 

Davos’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. “You can try, Jon, but it only works if she tries just as hard as you.” 

* * *

Sansa waffled a bit, jumping back and forth between asking her mother or asking her father. While she loved her mother and father equally, she wasn’t sure who to ask. 

Eventually, though, she sided with her father. While her mother may not outright _lie_ to her, she certainly would keep things hidden from Sansa if she thought they would have disturbed her. Her father would tell her the truth, no matter what.

She found him in his study, examining the latest reports carved into soft sponge on his desk. She lightly rapped on the door, and he glanced up, his face breaking out into a smile when he saw her there. “Sansa, sweetling. Come in.” 

Ned pushed the sponges off of his desk and peered at her with kind grey eyes, eyes that she realized, with a start, looked just like Jon’s. “Do you need something, darling?” 

Sansa swallowed nervously, smoothing her hands down the sides of her tail. She swam into the room and sat down on the chair opposite her father, tail curling around the stone legs. “Father,” she said. “I need you to be honest with me.” 

Ned instantly pulled his chair closer and peered at her with those grey eyes that she knew saw into her soul. “What is it, Sansa?” 

“Why do merfolk hate the shifters?” 

Ned’s face grew stony and cold, and he stared at the desk, jaw working as he clenched it. “Sansa, dear, I don’t think you need to know about that.” 

Sansa leaned forward and placed her hand over her father’s. “Father, I want to know. I think I deserve to know why I’m supposed to hate an entire group of people when I’ve not been given one good reason to do so.” 

Ned sighed. “Have you ever heard of the Trident?” 

She nodded. 

As her father spoke, Sansa tried not to vomit, tried not to cry and fall to pieces at the horror he was describing. It seemed unfathomable to her that her people were capable of such carnage, to slaughter so many people on both sides, without any consideration to the value of life. And all because of hate, because of prejudice, because of reasons that didn’t make any sense when you looked at them closely. 

She wanted to run out of her father’s office, to run into Jon’s arms and stay there in their lagoon forever, to smile and laugh and pretend they were in a world where the both of them could be together. 

Sansa felt her palms sting, and when she looked down, she realized she had clenched her hands into fists so tightly little bloody crescents were left, and salt water stung at them. 

“Father,” she said, when Ned had finished speaking, “forgive me, but that is completely stupid.” 

Ned didn’t even look shocked, simply rubbing at his temples. “I know, Sansa. I know it’s ridiculous, but when people have hate, they have hate. There is nothing you or I can do to change that.” 

“Ridiculous,” she spat. “Nothing you or I can do to stamp out hate? That’s not the Father that I know.” 

Ned peered at her. “You met one, didn’t you?” he said softly. 

Sansa leaned back instantly, wrapping her arms around herself as if that would afford her any sort of protection. She hung her head, unable to look her father in the eye. She could never regret meeting Jon, not when he was one of the best people she knew, not when even the thought of him made her feel like the sun was on her face even deep under the sea, not even when confronted with what she had done. 

She loved him, plain and simple, and she could never regret that. 

“I did,” she admitted softly. 

“His name?” 

“Jon.” 

Ned steepled his hands together. “And you’ve gone and fallen in love with this Jon, haven’t you?” Sansa nodded. “Is he brave, and gentle, and strong?” 

Her head shot up. Her father was asking her about the man she wanted to marry, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. 

She remembered that conversation, when she was 11 years old, back when her people still thought that marrying her off to whoever was the best match was something acceptable. Her father had promised to find someone good for her. _Someone brave, gentle, and strong._

“He is,” she murmured. “He’s the best man I know.” 

Ned nodded seriously. “I can’t tell you how dangerous this is, what you’re doing, Sansa. I’m very worried for you. But I know you won’t stop just because I tell you to. Just please. Be safe. Be careful.” 

“Thank you, Father.” 

Ned reached under the desk and pulled out a box. “I have something for you. I never knew if I was ever going to be able to give this to anyone, but I think you should have it.” 

Sansa lifted up the lid of the box to find a bracelet, carved with the symbol of a wolf. “Davos gave this to me, years ago,” he said quietly. “It’s the shifter symbol of friendship. Because a wolf never abandons its pack. Don’t wear it, and keep it well hidden, but I want you to have it. Please.” 

Sansa nodded, her heart in her throat and her eyes wet with hot tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, too overwhelmed to do much else than give her father a shaky smile. 

“Maybe you can do what I never could, Sansa.” 

* * *

Jon found her sitting on a rock, face tipped towards the sun. 

He had asked her, once what it felt like the first time the sun was on her face. She had had no words to describe it to him, only that it was something she could never let go of again. She could never live under the sea for the rest of her life, needed to see the world and travel. 

Jon knew he loved her, looking at her onthat rock, right then and there. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone else, the kind of love that scared him. 

But this wasn’t the time. 

He made his way closer to her, and when she heard him, she turned her face away from the sun, lips still curled up in a smile. “Hi, Jon.” 

Jon sat down next to her, feeling the sun on his face. “Hey.” 

Sansa looked down and curled her fingers around his hand. “Did you ask Davos?” 

He nodded. “I’m assuming you asked your father?” 

She sighed, looking at the ocean. “What are we supposed to do, Jon? If they hate each other so much already, how can we ever hope to change it? How can we hope to make things better?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I wish there was a way.” 

Sansa reached up into her hair and dislodged one of the coral clips she had pinned into it. She pressed it into Jon’s hand. “Whenever you see this, think of me. Remember that we were here. Remember we were us.” 

He curled his fingers around the clip but didn’t take his eyes off of her face, and reached up, gently brushing back a strand of her hair. “I always think of you.” 

Sansa blushed then, light pink splashing over her cheeks and down her neck, and Jon wanted to follow the path of her blush with his fingers and lips and tongue, wanted to explore every inch of her.

He dragged his fingertips down the side of her cheek, watching her face explode with color following the trail of his fingers. Her gaze fell to his lips, and she licked her own. There was no mistaking the almost hungry desire in her eyes, and Jon wasn’t enough of a fool to pass up this chance. 

He leaned in, dragging his hand through her hair, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. He trailed his lips across the bridge of her nose from one cheek to the other, blazing a path from cheekbone to lip. 

He hovered over her mouth, thumb gently pulling down her bottom lip, and god, he had wanted to do this for so long. 

Before he could, however, they heard splashing from the lagoon, and a voice calling out for her. 

“Sansa!” 

Jon turned his head to see a younger girl, not much younger than Sansa, with wide grey eyes, staring at the two of them. There was a panicked look on her face, like something bad had happened. 

“Arya,” Sansa said, immediately slipping off of the rock and into the water. “What’s wrong?” 

Arya. Sansa’s little sister, if Jon remembered correctly. But Sansa had described her as brash and confident and loud. The girl in front of him looked terrified, to her very bones. 

“It’s home,” Arya said. 

“What?” Sansa whispered. 

“The Boltons are attacking. They—they’ve already hurt so many people. Mother and Father know we can’t win. We need to leave, now. We’re going to meet them in the South Sea, get as far away as possible.” 

“Arya, we can’t!” Sansa was pale now, running her hands through her hair. “We can’t abandon Winterfell! It’s our _home._ We have to protect it. It belongs to us.” 

“Sansa!” Arya snapped. “I would be the first one to agree with you, but there are too many of them. They’ve already killed so many of us. Mother and Father and the boys are ok, but we need to get away, right now. _Please._ We can’t win. There’s too many of them, and they caught us off guard.” 

“The shifters,” Jon said suddenly. 

Sansa turned to look at him “What?” 

“The shifters. If we can get some of them to help, then they can make a difference. Sansa—” he looks at her, and there’s desperation in her eyes. “—we have to try.” 

She nodded. “Ok. Do what you can. We’ll meet you at the shores of Winterfell. I’ll tell Father to lead the Boltons there.” 

Jon nodded, and god, did he want to pull her closer and kiss her, but there was no time, not time for soft words and confessions, not now. 

He hopped off of the rock, coral clip still clutched in his hand, and squeezed hers. “Be safe.” 

“You too,” she said, before her tail was splashing water in his face, and she was gone.

* * *

Sansa could not stop her hands from shaking, no matter what. 

“Father, _please._ You have to listen. They’re going to come help us,” she pressed. 

“And why should we believe them?” Ned asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sansa, you remember what I told you. Remember the massacre I told you about, the horror that happened. How can we trust them?” 

“You don’t have to trust them, Father. Please, trust me. Trust that I know Jon will bring them. Look,” she said, holding up the silver bracelet, gleaming on her wrist. “I’m not taking this off, and I’m not hiding it. You said it was a symbol of friendship. Jon is Jon. He’s my friend, and he’ll bring them.” 

Her father eyed her suspiciously, but Sansa could tell that he was beginning to cave. “Sansa, if this doesn’t work out, the Boltons _will_ have Winterfell.” 

“And I was the only one who stood up and fought for our home,” she snapped back. “I want to keep it just as much as any of you. Please. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have all the faith that Jon was coming.” 

Her father sighed heavily. He leaned forward, thinking, and Sansa could see that he was considering it. You didn’t just give up a place like Winterfell. And the only person she had to convince was her father. Everyone else would follow him, follow the Lord who had kept them safe and happy for so long. 

“Very well,” he said, after what felt like an eternity. “We will go to the shores of Winterfell and draw the Boltons there. But Sansa,” he looked at her, “this is you. This is our fight. Our entire future is in your hands.” 

It took them about an hour and plenty of shouting that Sansa was thankfully spared, but soon, there were hundreds of merfolk in the water, looking at the shores just off of Winterfell. 

She could hear the grumbling behind her, but Sansa couldn’t listen to that, listen to them. She was on a rock, craning her neck, searching for Jon. 

With every passing second, she felt the pit in her stomach grow larger, a little harder. She had all the faith in the world in Jon, and believed in him, but what if he couldn’t manage to convince the other shifters? She knew he’d show up, but she wasn’t going to let him get killed. She would send him away. He wouldn’t get hurt. 

Suddenly, she saw a mop of curly hair materialize out of the forest. “Father,” she breathed, not daring to take her eyes off of Jon. “He’s here.” 

Jon came out of the forest, dozens and dozens of men and women at his back. The second Sansa saw him, she closed her eyes. 

He was going to be fighting for her, for her home, and he could die while doing so. 

No. They were going to be fighting for her home. Sansa might not be as good with a blade or as skilled in a fight as her sister was, but she was smart. She knew how to get people on her side, how to flank the Boltons. She would crush those who ever dared to step foot in her home. 

She opened her eyes to see her Father coming up to her, eyes wide with shock. His eyes were fixed on a man next to Jon, older, with a beard and intelligent eyes. “Davos?” he whispered. 

“Ned Stark,” Davos said. He turned to Sansa. “And you must be the mermaid Jon was talking about.” 

“My daughter,” Ned said, before Sansa could even open her mouth. “And Jon is…?” 

“My son,” Davos said. 

Ned’s face changed, going from apprehensive to sure. “If he’s your son, then he can be trusted.” 

Sansa watched the two men discuss stratagem, but she was so worried about Jon she could think of little else. She tugged him aside, lowering her voice so that no one could hear her. “How did you convince them?” 

He reached up and ran his hand through her hair, like he always did when she was nervous, and the gesture comforted her more than she thought possible. “Your hair clip,” he said softly. “If someone as sweet as you could be a mermaid and give me such a lovely gift, then they all couldn’t be bad. I didn’t convince them. You did.” 

“Jon,” Davos then said sharply. “We need to prepare. The Boltons are coming. We need to draw them into a sea and land assault.” 

Jon pressed a kiss to Sansa’s forehead. “Don’t get killed,” she warned. 

“I won’t,” he promised. 

* * *

Jon had always hated fighting, but he couldn’t deny that there was something about the slice of his sword that was far too enticing to him. Perhaps he was bred for violence, bred for the song of war to call out in his veins. He had considered simply shifting from one beast to another while fighting, but he was far better with a sword than at shifting quickly back and forth. That job was left to some of the more experienced men they had. 

But blood flowed into the sea like a river, and Jon’s stomach coiled whenever he saw a Bolton approach the flank of merfolk that were protecting the Lord. 

He knew Sansa was safe, she had to be, but he still worried. 

He killed more men on that day than he had ever touched before, but that was for another day. He was sure, there would be a day where he would mourn and understand the gravity of what he had done, but right then, there was only one thing ringing in his mind: _Protect Sansa. Protect Sansa. Protect Sansa._

The fighting was over after what felt like both an eternity and an instant, and Jon stood among the dead bodies of hundreds of men, the large majority of them Boltons. 

He stumbled into the sea and ducked under it, let the water wash away the blood and filth caked onto his face. 

He could barely open his eyes, he was so tired, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder, the scent of lemons. _Sansa._

He managed to drag open his eyes to see her there, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Jon,” she whispered, then traced her fingers down his face reverently. “Jon.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. “Jon.” 

He could do nothing but touch her back and whisper, _“Sansa.”_

She sat there for a few more minutes, allowing them to drink each other in. They were both soaked to the bone, and although Sansa didn’t seem to feel it, Jon was cold, shivering as the wind slices against his skin. 

“I have to go, Jon.” 

He opened his eyes instantly. “What—no?” He clutched at her. “Why, Sansa?” 

She gave him a sad smile. “The Boltons killed many of our people. They destroyed parts of our home, even though we were able to save the whole thing. They laid destruction to many of our crops and terrorized everyone. My father needs all the help he can get, to fix the North Sea. I have to stay here. My duty is to my family,” she whispered, her voice dropping so low even he could barely hear it, “but my heart is with you.” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But here is this. After one year, you go to the lagoon, on the first of every month. If, at the end of the day, I’m not there, then leave. But I promise, I will come back to you.” 

And then, she was gone, so suddenly Jon was left to wonder if he’d dreamed her up, if she was nothing more than a dream, a whisper in the wind. 

He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of her hand wrapped around his, of her smile in the sun, of her forehead pressed against his.

* * *

_17 months later_

The sun was shining when Jon made his way to the lagoon. It was the first of the month, when Sansa had said she would meet him. 

For four months, there had been nothing. Jon had the coral clip that Sansa had given him, had never let it out of his sight. He couldn’t bear to. 

There were nights when he woke up from nightmares, sweating and aching, feeling warm blood wash over him. The dreams had begun to subside, but there were cycles. Sometimes they would leave him for weeks, and then they’d be back for weeks again. 

Lately, he found that the only thing keeping him grounded was clutching Sansa’s clip in his palm, reminding himself that everything hadn’t been a wonderful dream, that she was real, and that she was out there, and that he was waiting for her. 

She had been so lovely at times Jon thought her to be a figment of his imagination, dreamt up to keep some of the worst nightmares away, his very own guardian angel, but whenever he looked at the clip, he knew she had to be real. 

Jon sighed and sat on the rock, his back to the entrance of the clearing. The sea was beautiful, sparkling in the sunlight, and the sky was the same color of Sansa’s eyes. 

Would he see her in everything, until he was with her once more? Would he be haunted by her for the rest of his life, waking up every day with her voice in his ear, with her touch on his skin? Would he ever be able to move on? 

God, he hoped not. He couldn’t imagine loving anyone but Sansa, feeling as connected to anyone as he did to her. 

There was a sound behind him, and Jon instantly shot up, scrambling down the rocks and skidding to a stop at the sight of the person in front of him. 

Sansa stood there, long red hair tousled from the wind. 

But—she had _legs._ She was _standing._ What the hell? 

Jon gaped at her in shock. “Sa—Sansa,” he spluttered. “You’re—you’re _human?”_

She smiled. “Not exactly. I never told you I could change into a human on land?” 

Jon shook his head dumbly. “Davos told me that only the most powerful merfolk could do that.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, just how powerful _are_ you?” 

She shrugged, stepping closer to him, and Jon struggled not to ogle those really fucking fantastic legs. “My father is the Lord of the North Sea, the largest and fiercest sea, so, I guess you could say I’m pretty powerful.” 

She stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell her, the scent of lemons, as always. He stepped forward as well, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, into a hug. “Seven hells,” he breathed, burying his face into her hair. “I thought you were a dream.” 

“Hmmm,” she agreed. “I thought you were mine.” 

Her arms slid up to his neck and hugged him tightly, clutching his body close to hers. There was an edge of desperation in her grasp, and Jon realized that for every minute he was away from her, for every minute it felt like his soul was dying, caving in on itself, Sansa must have felt the same. 

“Can we stay here for the rest of our lives?” she asked, tucking her face into his neck. 

Jon laughed. “I’m not sure about that, love. We’d have to go back eventually.” 

“Ugh,” Sansa groaned. She drew back from him, running her hands through his hair. “I think you owe me something then, Jon?” 

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?” 

Sansa laughed. “Oh, Jon,” she smiled. “Aren’t you ever going to kiss me?” 

“Oh,” Jon said. He linked his hands behind her back, smirking at her. “Who am I to refuse a lady?” 

“That’s right,” Sansa murmured, just before his mouth descended on hers. 

**Author's Note:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than ghost seeing jon! you can also find me on tumblr: @parkersedith


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